


Safe Hands

by DragonofFernweh



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Fluff, Hand & Finger Kink, Hands, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, gladnoct - Freeform, like. almost
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-16
Updated: 2018-12-16
Packaged: 2019-09-20 02:03:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,151
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17013486
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DragonofFernweh/pseuds/DragonofFernweh
Summary: Gladio has always been bigger than Noctis, like he could hold the prince in the palm of his hands, figuratively as much as literally. It's funny how hands that can be so rough can somehow be the softest in the world.





	Safe Hands

_For all the things my hands have held, the best by far is you._

ღ

Gladio had always been bigger than Noctis, in about every sense of the word. He encompassed what it meant to be big—in size, strength, and personality. He could take up an entire room when Noctis was barely a shadow, despite being the prince. Noctis could remember being a child and still having to tilt his head back to look at his future Shield, even with just a three-year age difference. That gap seemed to swell as they aged, Noctis would grow, but it was never fast enough. He still tilted his head some (only some, he swore) to look Gladio in the eye, and when it came to size in other aspects…well, people couldn’t all be mountains, and Noctis always did prefer sleep to the training mat.

“Take it easy!” Noctis had snapped as a pre-teen, glowering at Gladio with all the vehemence of a seething black cat. Noctis had landed hard after a throw, and he was starting to suspect Gladio was doing it on purpose. Gladio only rolled his eyes, and his shoulders, stuck at that awkward phase where he was lanky and growing into his build.

“Isn’t my fault you’re so light. Bulk up, princess, make it harder for enemies to get ahold of you!” Gladio snapped right back. All tension and aggression waiting with glistening teeth; that was their relationship, back then.  Noctis continued to lament how easily Gladio knocked him around in the training grounds, and Gladio continued berating the prince for his lack of effort and muscle.

A few years later, sixteen and having grown mostly in attitude, Noctis eyed Gladio with a prim jealousy. The Shield had truly grown into his title, now. Well over six feet and looking like he could rip a phonebook in half. That might be the sheepish exaggeration of a besotted teenager, though. Noctis watched Gladio from under his eyelashes, drinking in the way muscles bunched and twitched with exertion, hidden only by a pale tank-top. On most days, unless forced into that suit that always looked a smidgen too tight, Gladio forewent a shirt at all, leaving Noctis to huff and pout at the ground as he tried to focus on training and _not_ on the way Gladio’s arms looked when he swung the training sword.

Or, on the way the muscles in his back rippled when he straightened up and stretched, complaining about Noct’s training hardly even being a workout. Noctis disagreed about that, and with conviction. Every training session, he left sore, and with Gladio’s fingers seared into his skin. Gladio could wrap his hand around Noctis’ arm almost entirely, and he could flip him over his shoulder without hardly breaking a sweat.

It wasn’t _fair_ , Noctis thought, when he blinked up at the ceiling and tried to catch his breath from where he lay sprawled on the floor. The blunt end of Gladio’s sword had definitely left a bruise on his shoulder. Gladio’s hand on his wrist, though, engulfing the slim and pale limb, burned hot as it hefted Noctis up and out of his pity party. Noctis winced as he stumbled forward, placed onto his feet. It was a lot more like whipping around a ragdoll than actually helping a person up.

“Quit manhandling me,” Noctis grumbled.

Gladio snorted.

Now, they were both adults. Gladio was still big, and Noctis was still…well, a shadow. A shadow of the former King of Lucis, a shadow of the hope burning bright in the citizens, a shadow who still longed to step into that of his Shield’s, and to let him handle things. Just for a moment. Noctis felt too big, like he was staring down at the entire world, and millions of pairs of eyes stared back at him; accusing, pleading. Noctis could only pray he was headed in the right direction, following the path the Astrals had laid out, and hoping he was making the right choices. Gladio certainly seemed to doubt them, lately. His hands had grown rougher, when they caught Noctis, when they grabbed at him to gain his attention.

As if Noctis had ever needed help paying attention to Gladio and his booming voice, or the way his eyes could burn when he looked too long. Every time Gladio brought a heavy hand down on Noctis’ shoulder, or hooked an arm around his waist to yank him out of harm’s way (or, simply to toss him into bed when he’d had to carry Noctis), made Noctis feel _small_. Vulnerable, even, but there was something else to counter that vulnerability, something that greeted it as if to say it was okay.

Gladio was never hesitant when he used his strength. He nudged the others out of his way, or pulled them behind him when he deemed a situation unsafe. With Noctis, he tended to be…careful, was the word the prince would use, but perhaps “reverent” was more suited. Like when Gladio would notice Noctis was tired (or flat asleep), and would gather him up to carry him somewhere more comfortable, or to carry him from the car and to the hotel. Or, whenever Noctis got injured in battle, and Gladio would haul him to safety, holding him while assessing damage. The way his hand cradled Noctis’ head, supporting his weight like it was as insignificant as a cat. Gladio always made Noctis feel small, protected. He had the Shield’s hands memorized, now.

Noctis blinked, staring ahead at where he knew there was a bed opposite his, though it was too dark to make out much. He must’ve woken from a bad dream; his heart was racing and his head ached. Slowly, Noctis unclenched his jaw, and his hands where they clung to the sheets. His leg jiggled restlessly, his body full of distress and adrenaline. He wanted to run, but he was so very tired.

Behind him, Noctis felt the sheets shift, and he held his breath, worried Gladio was about to shove him right out of the bed for waking him up. The hands that had so easily dragged and shoved and carried Noctis all through his life, had been so full of anger lately. Noctis tried to still, but he knew it was a little late.

A warm palm slid around him suddenly, and came to rest against his abdomen, easily pulling him across the bed and against Gladio’s chest. Noctis found it easy to fall still, then. “Stop moving s’much,” Gladio’s sleepy voice rumbled close to Noctis’ ear. Noctis exhaled a breath he just realized he was holding. Again, he felt like a ragdoll, easily turned and lifted and put right where Gladio wanted him. He never said anything, though.

And, if he let his hand slip down to rest over Gladio’s, squeezing their fingers together, Gladio didn’t say anything, either.

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! This is an old work, I got the prompt “manhandling” from way back during the ffxvtwinksanddaddies event, and, well… I didn’t post it for the blog, because this was mostly an exercise, but I think it’s cute! I hope it makes at least someone smile. It’s only loosely inspired by the prompt, and it’s also hardly an age gap, but still.
> 
> Also, first time attempting GladNoct, so that was fun. Gladio and Ignis are both hard for me to write, but I’m hoping to improve my characterization with baby steps!


End file.
